danceviewtimes

“Sylvia”
San Francisco Ballet
Lincoln Center Festival
LaGuardia Concert Hall
New York, NY
July 28, 2006

by Susan Reiter
copyright 2006 by Susan Reiter

It’s hard, if not impossible, to wipe the mind’s slate clean of associations when viewing Mark Morris’ “Sylvia” for the first time. San Franciscans saw it in spring 2004, just before the recent Royal Ballet/American Ballet Theatre revival of Frederick Ashton’s glorious 1952 version reached the stage. Now, after ABT has performed it during its past two spring seasons, one cannot help making comparisons and having expectations as the magnificent Delibes’ score is heard, and on first viewing Morris’ version feels charming but slight in comparison with the riches of the Ashton. But a subsequent viewing on Friday — the last of San Francisco’s three local performances of the work — made it possible to enjoy its virtues and pleasures, which were enhanced by a very strong cast.

Vanessa Zahorian, lithe but strong, projected warmth and humor as Sylvia. Her commanding presence and powerful, sleek technique made her the clear leader of the huntress nymphs, who fend for themselves and have no use for the powers of Eros, to whom everyone else in the ballet bows, or prostrates themselves, reverently. This Sylvia is obviously a take-charge, no-nonsense nymph, but also rapturously feminine. Her crisp attack imbued her Act One material with welcome energy and fire, and her dramatic skill allowed one to follow Sylvia’s the stages of emotional journey quite clearly, culminating in her lucid radiance in Act Three.

Her common sense and wiles clearly assured that she would outwit the lumbering, angry Orion of Damien Smith – a creature who knew what he wanted on a gut level, but had no ideas of how to go about getting it. Morris has given this character some larger-than-life arm and upper-body moves that telegraph (I am an evil brute” in an almost cartoonish fashion, and Smith did not quite project these convincingly. But his simmering impatience, and eager consumption of wine in his misguided belief that Sylvia was about to party with him, were clearly communicated.

Guennadi Nedviguine was a sublime Aminta. First of all, he looks like a Greek statue. Then there is his exceptional technique, eloquent phrasing, and deeply poetic presence and innate nobility. His dancing has a cushiony pliancy, and he never strains for an effect. His pale soulfulness blended wonderfully with Zahorian’s brunette vivaciousness, and their mutual attraction and bliss at finding their way to each other made their celebratory Act Three dances a true pleasure to watch.

Morris’ version is charming, and sensual, while Ashton’s achieves grandeur and employs the classical vocabulary to rhapsodic effect. Some of Morris’ choreography is blunt, and there are times when the stage picture is under-animated. But his own opening scene, while it does not shimmer with Ashton’s magic, is quite delicious in its own way, with the imperious, sleek naiads seeming to emerge from a waterfall, gradually blending in with the earthy dryads and satyrs (whose saucy hip-jutting poses are sweetly adorable) so that everyone can lie down for a merry time together.

The limited movement interest of Act Two lies in the eight lumbering doofuses who are Orion’s slaves, and seem like relatives of the “drinking companions” in Balanchine’s “Prodigal Son.” Sylvia’s playacting as a sensual good-time-girl is never really communicated through choreography; some wonderful, full-bodied music is not fully exploited here. But in Act Three the 16-member ensemble truly comes across as “Celebrants,” bounding lightly, meeting up for folk-flavored bits of companionship, their fleet, nimble patterns adding to the gleaming lightness of the scene. It’s on a much smaller scale than the grand celebration that Ashton weaves, full of mythological figures and numerous attendants, but it has its own benign warmth.

Also contributing to the dramatic vigor and high level of this performance were Garrett Anderson’s sly, knowing Eros — deft and persuasive in his various guises- and the delightful pair of brothers, Ruben and Moises Martin, as the resilient heralds who anchor the opening of the third act.

Volume 4, No. 29
July 31, 2006
copyright ©2006 by Susan Reiter
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